Links from the Show at a Glance:

 

Artist: King Saul AKA Saul Bateman

Title of Art: Smell

Artist’s Website: https://www.king-saul.com/

Instagram: @kingsaulart

 

Art Ink Submission Guidelines: rebekahnemethy.com/artinksubs

 

 

 

Art Ink Podcast Transcript:

 

[Intro:]

 

What’s up everyone? Welcome to a brand new episode of Art Ink!

 

So, many of you may not know this about me, but I think I’m far enough away from my high school years to share it without getting too embarrassed. I used to be a gothic chick. There, I said it. There was a brief period in my life when I wore black lipstick, jeans that could fit my entire body in one pant leg, and one of those ridiculously thick ball chain chokers. Back then I was fascinated with all things horror.

 

I’m telling you this because when you go visit our featured artist’s Instagram page, you may wonder why his art is so different from the art I have been featuring. Lately I’ve been drawn to brightly colored abstract art, but there is still a place in my heart for creepy dark art too, and I thought you might like to know where that comes from before I introduce today’s artist.

 

If you’ve ever seen a book called Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, which was one of my favorites growing up, you might remember the epically creepy artwork. And today’s artist has a style reminds me of these illustrations from my childhood, which brings with it memories of slumber parties and readings under blankets by flashlight. I used to love to be scared. And I’ve often wondered why I stopping seeking the thrill of a good scary story.

 

Anyway, this introduction might be a bit anti-climactic… because it’s only as I’ve been writing this that I realized my story doesn’t exactly match the mood of the majority of our featured artist’s work, although a scan through his Instagram page will certainly give you Edgar Allen Poe and Nightmare Before Christmas type vibes, today’s story is not scary at all and I’m doing my very best not to apologize for that… because I have a horrible habit of being sorry for everything AND because inspiration works in mysterious ways and that’s ok.

 

The things that inspire us don’t always show up as perfect reflections in our work. That’s what makes art so awesome, because the trip this drawing took me on, may not be the same one it’d take you on if you didn’t have me here influencing you with my own perspective.

 

Back in my goth chick days I was very afraid of the unknown, and over the years, while my fascination with the so-called supernatural hasn’t died down any, my fear has transformed into awe and wonder. I still ask why, all the time, seriously, I’m kinda like a 5-year-old, but I don’t automatically jump to the worst-case scenario anymore. And, so I guess that’s just my long-ass explanation for why I’m not sorry for writing today’s story. Haha.

 

Well, I’m thrilled to be able to introduce you to King Saul’s art today. On his website he writes that his philosophy is: “to dig deep into the subconscious and build new worlds through art by tearing down the walls between beauty and horror, reality and fantasy, the hearing of pictures and the seeing of sounds. Intrigued?”

 

I don’t know about you but that’s a mission I could get behind, because, yeah, I am intrigued! Aren’t you?

 

Let me try to paint with words what Saul’s created:

 

 

[Art Description:]

 

I’m not 100% sure, but to me this sketch looks like it’s done in pencil and pen. A disembodied nose hovers in the center of the design. On the bottom left a rose rests just below the nose, and there are other flowers scattered all across the bottom of the page. Swirls of scent rise up from all of the flowers, but while most of the scents float midair, the rose is sending its swirls straight into each nostril of the floating nose. On the far left a stick of incense releases a swirl of smoke that intermingles with the steam rising from a hot beverage just behind it.

 

Saul calls this piece “Smell,” and it’s this sketch that inspired the following ghost story I’ve titled, “The Sweet Scent of Roses.”

 

 

[Story:]

 

Mark sat straight up in bed. The scent of roses was so strong, it was like a bouquet of flowers was in his face. He inhaled deeply, exhaled, inhaled again.

 

The last time Mark had smelled a real rose was at Jasmin’s funeral. Though, before that, he couldn’t step into their home without being overwhelmed by the sweet smell.

 

A few more deep breaths confirmed that the scent hadn’t faded away. Over the past few years this had happened before, but it had always faded away quickly, leaving Mark to believe that the sweet sensation had been a trick of his imagination, a memory so strong his mind created it as a sort of comfort food for his soul.

 

He wasn’t imagining it this time, though. There were roses infusing his every breath.

 

Mark glanced around the room. “Jasmine?” he whispered. He didn’t think it was possible, but the scent suddenly seemed stronger. “Jasmine,” he sighed, “I knew it was you.”

 

Something urged him to get out of bed. He imagined Jasmine giggling in a cloud above him, a mischievous smile that thinned her big blue eyes just enough for it to be seductive, the way a thong somehow sexifies a butt cheek. Mark knew she’d laugh at that analogy if she were still here. In fact, she’d probably make it up herself. He couldn’t see her at all, of course, but it was as if she were luring him through the darkness with a rose in her teeth, always just out of reach. That was his own imagination though. If she was here it was probably more like Lakitu (lah-KEE-too), that pesky cloud guy in Super Mario Bros., but instead of flinging Spinies down to the Earth below, she had a bouquet of roses on a fishing line.

 

He followed the smell all the way into the hallway and it suddenly disappeared. Mark nodded his head back and forth sniffing the air, but it was gone. He turned back toward the bedroom and suddenly he was smacked in the face with sweetness. He followed his nose to the closet and walked up to his own naked body reflected in the mirrored sliding doors. Did Jasmine want him to get dressed?

 

The smell wafted in and out as Mark pulled on jeans and a hoodie, but never fully disappeared. He imagined Jasmine bouncing excitedly, like the moments before they got on a new rollercoaster, a fun cocktail of fear and excitement bubbling out of her heels, lifting her up and down.

 

As soon as his socks were on the scent led him to the front door. Then it suddenly dissipated. Mark opened the door, sniffed the air; nothing. It wasn’t until he turned around that the faint scent of roses once again seeped into his septum.

 

Mark was beginning to wonder if maybe the spirit leading him around might be a fairy, or some other type of tiny, flighty being, judging from the way it kept spinning him around the house.

 

He walked back through the hall toward the kitchen. Jasmine seemed to pause for a moment midway, and so did he until his eyes fell upon the unicorn horn kaleidoscope she’d impulsively bought in Sedona on their honeymoon. It was way too much money and he hated it, but he’d never even considered getting rid of it after she was gone.

 

Mark wasn’t sure if the pause was a happy, proud pause or a sad, sentimental one. Perhaps it was all of those feels. At least those were the emotions he felt.

 

Wandering wherever his invisible incense wanted to lead him, Mark found himself in front of the refrigerator when all of the floral tones suddenly vanished from his senses.

 

“Really, Jazz?” Mark asked. “I’m not hungry.”

 

The roses didn’t come back, however, until he’d opened the fridge door.

 

“How about we compromise?” he said, “I’ll have a glass of orange juice… I really haven’t been that bad, have I Jazz – that you think you need to come back and nanny me.”

 

The scent bounced in the air, like back in the closet. Jasmine was giggling, at least that was his interpretation of the strange way the smell tickled his nostrils. He didn’t know how to read it, though, without being able to see the expression on her face. Jasmine laughed at everything in life. Laughter was her energy, her defense mechanism, her medicine.

 

As soon as Mark put his empty glass down the roses vanished until his nose was pointed toward the front door. Midway back through the hall, a breath of hot, moist air brushed up the skin of his neck, “don’t forget your keys,” Jasmine whispered-or did she?, and the scent suddenly strengthened. He stopped abruptly, grabbed the keys, and headed to the garage.

 

As he drove the mile that led out of their private drive the roses remained as an undertone. When he got to the stop sign Mark asked, “Which way?”

 

He flicked the turn signal up and the green arrow blinked towards the right. Jasmine pulled her roses back out of his world. When he pushed the lever to signal left the floral smell invaded his nostrils times ten.

 

“To the left it is then,” Mark said.

 

Several turns and miles later, Mark found himself turning into the Whole Foods parking lot. He’d never shopped here himself, but Jasmine used to come here weekly.

 

“Are you trying to make me eat healthy, Jazz?” he whispered softly, “because we both know that’s about as unlikely as a rabbit pulling a magician out of her hat.”

 

That bouncy tickle hit his nose again and Mark mentally checked himself. Either she thought he was hilarious, which was doubtful, as she’d heard that one at minimum a dozen times, or she was excited about what was coming next. And despite Jasmine’s constant stream of healthy meals, she’d never been that excited about food. That she tolerated cooking would be a nice way to put it, it was an obligation. No, whatever Jazz was excited about, it must be something else.

 

The sweet scent of roses led Mark into the store. “Do I need a cart, Jazz?” He whispered, hoping no one noticed him seemingly talk to himself. All sweetness dissipated immediately.

 

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said spinning in a 180 from the corner of parked carts to face the produce section. He walked slowly along the chilled wall of leafy greens as the smell seeped back into his senses. He passed the spinach, a bit surprised that Jasmine hadn’t stopped him… she used to sneak a handful or two into his smoothie every morning, he remembered the look on her face when he caught her a year into it… surprise, but then smug satisfaction as she informed him he’d been drinking spinach for at least a year already and if he tasted it now it was all in his head.

 

Mark was so caught in the memory that he didn’t see the puddle he was approaching. As if a “too little too late” warning as his feet slid out from under him, the tiny sprinklers above the fresh herbs and broccoli misted the left side of his body as he went down. Just before his head ricocheted off of the low shelf and onto the hard floor, the strongest smell yet smacked him in the face. Jasmine was giggling again… she always did find it funny when his clumsiness got the best of him, often apologizing and uncontrollably cackling at the same time. Why would any of that change after death? That’s the last thing Mark thought of before everything went black.

 

***

 

“Are you ok?” a concerned voice asked.

 

The voice brought Mark back to reality, back to the grocery store, but it did nothing to tame the ghostly remnants of his late wife.

 

In fact the sweet smell was so strong now, it was starting to sicken him. He couldn’t escape it. It was as if he were dropped into a densely packed pool of potpourri, unable to swim to the surface, petals stuffed into his mouth and nostrils.

 

Mark’s head was throbbing, the pulse pinching the back of his left eye. He slowly parted his lids, letting the light in cautiously, luckily the silhouette above him blocked most of the light. Long, dark, curly hair made a sort of cave around the woman’s face.

 

She spoke again, “Can you hear me?”

 

“Yeah… I’m ok,” Mark managed after a minute.

 

The woman grabbed onto his forearm and pulled him to sitting. The mist still spritzed the air and clung to her curls like glittery morning dew. Behind her an abandoned cart stood askew, empty except for a single bouquet of red roses. Another bouquet lay abandoned on the floor somewhere between where she knelt and the path back to her cart.

“I keep telling them about this puddle,” the woman said, “I almost went down myself last week. Do you think you can stand?”

 

“I think so.” Mark said and then tried. The woman helped steady him as she got to her own feet. As she rose her face was revealed from the shadows. Worried turquoise eyes darted around his face.

 

“I’m fine,” he assured her, though, truth be told, Jasmine’s floral infusion was still at full power and his queasiness was on the rise.

 

Mark’s lie did nothing to calm the stranger’s features, though, so he headed towards the scattered flowers on the floor to prove himself.

 

“Thanks,” she smiled as she accepted the now disheveled bouquet, shifted the unruly flowers to one arm, hugging them to her chest, and extended her free hand. “I’m June,” she said.

 

“Mark,” he replied taking her hand, and he couldn’t believe it, but the scent actually got stronger, and he involuntarily gagged.

 

“Are you sure you’re all right?” June asked, her features back on high alert, “you don’t look so good… are you nauseated?”

 

“Yeah, just a little, but it’s the smell of those flowers doing it, not my fall.” Mark said weakly.

 

“Really?” June said. She glanced at the flowers in her arms and then back at him. She didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know, nausea is a common side effect of a concussion,” she said as she turned to place the flowers back in her cart, “you should really get yourself checked out.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Mark managed a smile as he said it. Jasmine had let up on the perfume since he’d voiced his problem aloud and his stomach was settling.

 

“Ok, Mark,” June said, “but if you change your mind, I’d be happy to give you a ride to the emergency room.”

 

“Nah, I’m good.”

 

“Ok… well, good luck,” she said somewhat awkwardly and pushed her cart down the aisle.

 

As June got farther and farther away, so did Jazz’s scent. Had he been imagining this smell the whole time? Was it just June’s flowers he’d been smelling since he’d entered the store?

 

Unsure what to do next without his floral guide, he headed back outside and sat on a bench.

 

“Jazz?” He whispered.

 

Nothing.

 

“Jasmine, are you there?” He tried again.

 

Still nothing.

 

“What was that all about?” He muttered to himself this time. “Am I going crazy?”

 

Mark sat there for a while, reimagining the day he’d had so far. To his left, the automatic doors slid opened and closed, popping out people like a factory line of grocery Barbie dolls. A seemingly endless stream of blondes in yoga attire walked past him.

 

He attempted one more time to prove his own sanity. “How do you drown a Whole Foods Barbie?” he paused. “Put a scratch and sniff sticker at the bottom of her kombucha cup!”

 

That did it, and he could faintly sense the roses bouncing in his nose again.

 

Through the glass doors he spotted June checking out, she was like black beauty in a herd of palominos. The invisible incense ramped up again, and suddenly, he finally got what Jasmine was trying to say.

 

“Jazz…” he whispered, looking down at the ground. “I don’t know if I’m ready yet. I still miss you so much.”

 

She was still there, but she was pulling back, as if to say, “don’t be ridiculous, Mark.” It was easy enough to imagine… she’d said it plenty of times before.

 

He looked up and to the left and saw that June was heading toward the double doors. “I love you Jazz,” he said. “Thank you.”

 

Mark rose just as the doors parted and when June locked eyes with him, a broad smile spread across her face.

 

“You change your mind, killer?”

 

“Well the thing is, I kind of hate doctors,” Mark confessed, “but maybe you can keep me company? Ya know, just in case I take a turn for the worse?”

 

 

[Conclusion:]

 

A big shout out goes to King Saul for being so kind as to share his art with all of us today, I’m so grateful for your generosity, Saul! If you’re interested in the cover art used for this episode you should know that a slightly altered version of “Smell” is actually available as a linoleum print. This is 1 of the 5 pieces that are a part of Saul’s Synesthesia Series.

 

In case you don’t know what synesthesia is, it’s described as a “condition” in the dictionary, but I’m going to call it an ability… I might even go so far as to say it’s a superpower, and it’s when someone’s senses connect in ways that allow them to perceive things most people can’t. For example, someone with synesthesia may be able to hear colors, see sounds, or taste words. It’s truly fascinating to me… I remember reading awhile back that some people with synesthesia are able to see a wider spectrum of colors, but that’s when I got a little jealous and stopped reading.

 

So, now on top of wanting to write a scarier story to pair with Saul’s work, I’m also wishing my main character had synesthesia. Ugh… well there’s always another story to tell. You know that cliché about how a picture is worth 1000 words… well honestly I think that’s a vast understatement… maybe 1000 stories is more like it. And that reminds me, I’ve been putting together a long list of writing prompts for any of you artists out there who struggle with writing about your art. I have no idea when it’ll be done, but I do know that it’ll be super helpful when it is, so I’ll be sure to let you know as soon as it’s available.

 

So, anyway, please do make sure to check out Saul’s work on Instagram @kingsaulart or you can visit his website at king-saul.com.

 

Alrighty, my friends, that’s a wrap! Thank you so much for listening! Don’t forget to check back here in two weeks for the next episode… or better yet subscribe to the show so you don’t have to worry about missing out. I’ll catch ya next time!

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